


Warmth

by laugh_a_latte



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Coffee, Depression, M/M, Pancakes, Rain, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: When his depression gets bad, Michael has trouble sleeping.(Inspired by the song Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson!)
Relationships: Jeremy Heere & Michael Mell, Jeremy Heere/Michael Mell
Comments: 11
Kudos: 90





	Warmth

Jeremy’s eyes snap open, his heart pounding with adrenaline. He swallows and blinks into the darkness. He can hear the rain pounding on his window, and it takes him a second to realize the thunder woke him up, the final few rolls trailing off outside.

Jeremy sighs and relaxes back into the bed. Refusing to really wake up, he’s ready to fall back into a coma when he realizes that Michael isn’t here.

He opens his eyes fully and waits for them to adjust. And no, Michael definitely isn’t next to him anymore.

So much for not waking up.

He pushes himself up and reaches for his phone on the dresser. He misses it twice, but then finds it and turns the screen on, shining it around.

No Michael, but the other side of the bed is messed up, so Jeremy wasn’t just dreaming Michael spent the night. Plus, his backpack is on the floor in the corner, so he must be in the house somewhere.

Jeremy cracks his neck painfully, weighing if he should go look for him or just try and fall back asleep.

A few months ago, if this happened, Jeremy would shrug it off, fall back asleep, and not worry. But now he’s always worrying and wondering about Michael. So he can’t just fall back asleep without checking on him, even if he wanted to.

Jeremy kicks the blankets off, resigned to the fact that he won’t sleep until he finds Michael. He squints at his phone on the way out of his room. Just past six in the morning.

Jeremy leaves his door open and he patters down the hall, one hand trailing along the wall beside him. The bathroom door is ajar and it’s dark inside. Michael isn’t there.

Jeremy makes it to the end of the hall. His eyes are still fuzzy and crusty, so he takes a moment to rub them. The light from his phone is irritating.

Jeremy drops his hands and looks down the staircase. Yellow light is pooling down on the hardwood from the kitchen.

He goes down the stairs very slowly so he doesn’t accidentally die, and listens, but he can’t hear anything except for rain pounding down on the world outside.

Jeremy makes it down successfully without falling, and the light down here is much brighter, so Jeremy takes another second to let his vision painfully adjust before he goes into the kitchen.

And there Michael is. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with his sleeves pulled down to his fingertips, cradling a mug of coffee and staring out the window. He hasn’t noticed Jeremy. Jeremy stays still.

Jeremy likes moments like this. Moments where Michael isn't paying him any mind, moments where he's just existing, and Jeremy can just look at him. Study him, and wonder.

These moments happen less and less as the days go on.

Jeremy remembers a time when they would fall into these moments of existing around each other so easily. Times where they could just be around each other for hours without having to do anything or talk or try.

Now whenever they're together it feels like trying.

So Jeremy stands still, pushes all the thoughts of trying and doubt and fear out of his mind, and lets himself exist in this small moment. Where he can be near Michael, and not need to try.

Jeremy looks at Michael’s back.

He's wearing a black hoodie and his legs are criss-crossed on the chair. His back rises and falls steadily, almost like he’s sleeping, but by the way his thumb is rubbing circles on the mug, Jeremy knows he isn't.

Michael’s back rises and falls. It rises, and falls.

And Jeremy feels sad.

Another crack of thunder rips through the air. Michael doesn't move an inch, but Jeremy is so startled he jumps. His socks squeak on the tile.

Michael’s back stops rising, right before he looks over his shoulder.

“Hey.”

“It's still dark out,” Jeremy says, then almost kicks himself because _that_ was stupid. Of course it's dark out. Michael can see that.

But Michael doesn't look at him like he's stupid. In fact, he doesn't look at him with any sort of emotion at all.

“Yeah.” Michael turns back around.

And there it is. That stupid feeling. This need to try.

“D-Did the storm wake you up?”

“No.”

Jeremy shifts his weight back and forth, from foot to foot, watching Michael’s back.

Try harder.

“The storm woke me up,” Jeremy says, debating if he should step closer, or stay still, or run the hell away because obviously Michael doesn’t want to talk, and Jeremy is talking, and months ago Jeremy wouldn’t feel like he has to talk, but he fucked everything up in more ways than one.

“Oh.”

And those thoughts screech to a halt in Jeremy’s head. That tone in Michael’s voice.

Jeremy has to fix this.

Jeremy looks at the back of Michael’s head as he thinks. He used to know what to do. What did he used to do when Michael got like this? All empty and depressing. He’s dealt with this before. He’s dealt with worse before.

An image flashes quickly in his mind, supplying him with what he thinks might be an answer. A moment from Freshman year, when they were in Michael’s basement and Jeremy woke up to find Michael in this oddly subdued state, just like today. And that day, way back in Freshman year, Jeremy got Michael something to eat. And he thinks he even remembers one point where Michael smiled.

It’d be nice to see Michael smile again.

That’s what he has to do.

Jeremy moves, opening cabinets and pulling out what he needs. A pan, a bowl, measuring cups, flour, sugar, salt. He gets butter and sour cream from the fridge, because no matter what Michael says, sour cream pancakes are superior. And he’s busy trying to remember if it’s a half stick or quarter stick of butter that goes into the batter when he notices Michael’s turned around in his chair.

Jeremy pauses. He opens his mouth to say something—he doesn’t know what—when he realizes Michael’s coffee mug is full.

He doesn’t know why he notices, but he does. Maybe it’s because Michael’s coffee mug is usually only full for the two seconds between when he finishes pouring and when he takes a scalding sip, or maybe it’s because he realizes it’s not even steaming.

Jeremy puts the stick of butter down and walks over to Michael, who’s just looking at him. Jeremy reaches across Michael and picks up the mug of coffee.

Cold.

Jeremy feels this weird dread pool up in his stomach again, and he has to push that away, unsure of why a cold mug of coffee is making him feel so wrong.

Jeremy doesn’t look at Michael as he takes the mug away, but he can feel Michael’s eyes on his back. Jeremy checks the coffee pot, still on and half full. Jeremy doesn’t drink coffee, but he knows how it’s supposed to smell, and this coffee smells like it’s been on the burner for way too long.

Jeremy dumps that and rinses out the filter basket, then puts on a second pot of coffee, hoping he got the number of scoops right. He empties the cold coffee from Michael’s mug.

As he waits for the coffee to brew, he washes out the mug and takes out the milk, eggs, and baking soda. Once the coffee pot stops making noises, he goes to refill Michael’s mug, then decides last minute to get Michael a new mug.

Maybe the change will help, if only a little.

Jeremy fills the mug then walks over to Michael, handing it over.

“Drink your coffee, dude,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even.

Michael lifts his hand, as if to take it, but hesitates.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Michael says after a few moments. Jeremy doesn’t reply, their hands hovering in space between them.

Then, Michael shakes his head once, and takes it. He looks at it like it’s the sun.

Jeremy forgets for a second what he’s doing.

But then he remembers that he’s trying to make Michael feel better. He’s trying to make Michael smile.

Jeremy leaves Michael with his coffee and retreats to his ingredients. If he doesn’t drink it, Jeremy thinks, at least he’ll have something warm to hold on to.

Jeremy mixes the flour, baking soda, and salt in a bowl, trying not to look at Michael, trying not to look at his coffee mug. The rain pounds harder on the window.

Then Jeremy finds a second bowl. He cuts the stick of butter in half, and is about to put it in when he hesitates.

“Two tablespoons.”

Jeremy looks up at Michael. The rain is streaming down on the dark window behind him, and, with that hoodie, he nearly blends in. Sitting there in this warm, dry kitchen, Michael looks soaking wet.

“What?”

“It’s two tablespoons of butter, not four.”

“Oh.”

Jeremy looks away. Michael’s mug is still full.

He cuts the butter in half again and adds it to the bowl, then creams in the sugar. He adds the milk and sour cream next, and can feel Michael’s eyes on him.

Jeremy looks up.

“What?”

“Sour cream in pancakes.”

“Yeah?”

“It just shouldn’t be as good as it is.”

And Jeremy looks at Michael, curled up in this wooden kitchen chair, all dark and barely speaking, and doesn’t understand why he feels so warm, looking at something so cold.

Michael lifts the steaming mug to his lips and takes a sip, and Jeremy almost smiles.

Jeremy looks away before Michael sees, and focuses on combining the wet and dry mixtures. He can't remember if he's supposed to add the wet to the dry, or fold in the dry with the wet, or if it even matters. In the end, he dumps the wet into the dry and mixes it slowly, listening to the rain outside.

He turns to the stove to turn the burner on, but Michael’s already there, melting butter on the skillet, his not-full mug on the counter next to him.

Jeremy didn’t even hear him stand up from the table.

“Here,” Michael says, handing him a ripe banana. “Put that in.”

Jeremy takes it, and looks up at Michael.

And there it is.

“As long as we’re putting weird shit in pancakes.”

And it’s not big, or bright, or really remarkable at all. It doesn’t even reach his eyes, but it’s there all the same.

And Jeremy didn’t even have to try.

**Author's Note:**

> (This fic was inspired by the song Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson, but it's like a sad version lol. It's a great song if you don't know it! <3)
> 
> I've been SO BUSY finishing up my semester, but now it's holiday break! I wrote this to get back into writing the boys, and am planning to work more on my long fic, Lately, during the break, if anyone is wondering about that. Thank you so much with your patience with my updating!
> 
> (And, as always, I live on comments. Thank you for reading! <3)


End file.
